


Knock Knock

by Lamenta



Series: Lamenta's Tumblr Scribbles [12]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders and Fenris can be civil, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fenris and Varric should never be left on their own, Fenris is drunk, Fenris is in fact a cat person, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Relationship, Ser Whiskers, references to hangovers, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/pseuds/Lamenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first of the five giveaway prizes I owe to my lovely followers on tumblr from my 2nd giveaway! I apologize for the lateness but my time is so darn limited at the moment...ugh.</p>
<p>This one is for randomtigers/moustashleigh, who won 2nd place on my 2nd followers giveaway (a story of at least 2.5 k words). I've been writing on this and another and I believe all stories are going to  exit the minimum word count *COFF*</p>
<p>Their request:<br/>"Set in Kirkwall where Fen breaks into Anders clinic drunk thinking it was his house (or somewhere he was supposed to be) and Anders wants to kick him out but his cat likes him so he lets him stay and cuddles ensu."</p>
<p>I loved the other prompt you sent me as well, but what I made of it just sucked, so I went with this one :-*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knock Knock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moustashleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moustashleigh/gifts).



At first, Anders was sure it was just a dream; a product of his constantly alert mind, his constant worry that they would come for him in his sleep and drag him away. Despite living with that fear every minute of the day, the sounds that reached his ears didn’t scare him as much as they should. Neither did they make him want to get up and run, or face whoever was paying him a visit in the middle of the night.

 

The third loud crash eventually had him jolt awake and sit up; it wasn’t a dream and now that his brain had realized as much, panic welled up inside Anders. Someone was taking his clinic apart. One hand reached for his staff as he got up swiftly, ready to fight those blighted Templars and give them an _actual_ reason to fear a mage.

 

Well, as scary as he could be, only wearing smalls, he supposed.

 

Even though it was dark in his small room, he could see a tiny head lift curiously; triangle-shaped ears moved into every direction as they listened intently. Anders leaned forward and scratched the small head affectionately. It earned him a pleased purring sound. “Stay here, Ser Whiskers,” the mage whispered. “I’ll go check what’s going on. If it’s Templars, run.”

 

 

Anders had expected to find the clinic about to be set on fire. He had expected half a dozen armored men searching it; alternatively, Carta dwarfes looking for treasures or another poor Darktown soul, searching for coin or food.

 

Instead, when he pulled the curtain aside, he was greeted by darkness. A shadow was stumbling across the place, bumping into cots. Anders noticed that a few empty vials that he’d put on his desk earlier lay shattered on the ground; they were probably the reason for the third loud crash he’d heard.

 

A string of curses reached him and Anders took a deep breath before aiming his staff at the intruder. “Leave or die,” he called.

 

The shadow froze and turned its head. Anders shuddered when he noticed a pair of glowing eyes and wondered if the demons had finally found a way out of the Fade. He thought again and slowly lowered his staff when he remembered who else had eyes that glowed in the dark.

 

Elves.

 

“Who are you?” Anders asked tiredly. “And what are you doing in my home?”

 

“What are you doing in _my_ home, mage?” a familiar voice snarled – or rather, slurred.

 

“Fenris?” Anders asked in disbelief and put his staff away. “What in the Void?” Of all the people Anders would expect to break into his clinic, the former slave wasn’t one of them. Fenris avoided this place like the pest, unless Hawke made him come along. For some reason, Fenris seemed to feel like he had to behave around Hawke and never voice a complaint. Anders wasn’t sure if that was really the healthiest friendship for the elf, considering his past.

 

“Get out!” Fenris slurred. The mage snorted and sent a tiny flame to the fireplace, rekindling the flame. The fire bathed the clinic in a warm orange light. Green eyes squinted at the fire, then Anders.

 

“ _You_ get out,” Anders told the elf. “See? This is my home, Fenris.”

 

Fenris looked around. Within moments, there was a dumbfounded expression on his face and it was painfully obvious that he tried to make sense of his situation and failed. He was still a few feet away from the mage, but Anders didn’t miss the very distinct smell and made a face.

 

“Maker, how drunk are you?” he asked, nose wrinkling.

 

“This isn’t Hightown,” Fenris stated.

 

“No, Fenris. This is Darktown. You’re in my clinic. And more drunk than I remember ever having seen you. Did you let Corff serve the Hanged Man Special? I _told_ you that stuff is lethal.”

 

“Hum.” The elf looked at him. “Why are you naked?”

 

“I was sleeping!” Anders exclaimed. “It’s the middle of the night, you dumb elf!”

 

“How did I get here?” Fenris looked like he was thinking _very_ hard and the expression on his face was so ridiculous, Anders had trouble holding back a laugh. “Varric told me to take that passage to get home faster.”

 

“And just how drunk was Varric when he did that?”

 

The elf squinted at him. “Venhendis, mage, get dressed. There are things I have no desire to see.”

 

“Don’t break into my clinic in the middle of the night if you don’t want a glimpse of my naked ass.”

 

Nevertheless, Anders decided to follow Fenris ‘advice’ and shuffled back to his room, accompanied by a string of Tevene curses. Fenris was no danger – much less when he was so drunk, he got disoriented. Question was, what was Anders going to do about the drunk elf now? He disliked going out at night, especially if it meant having to wander through all of Darktown. Even though he was one of the people that didn’t need to truly worry, Anders was aware that the one or other shady figure didn’t care about who he was or what he did for the people here.

 

He grabbed the dark blue tunic he usually wore before getting dressed in the mornings. Ser Whiskers had left the safety of his cot. Anders mused that the cat didn’t like having his sleep interrupted much as the mage did. A loud ‘thump!’ made Anders jump. The sound was followed by a groan and Anders knew Fenris had fallen over.

 

Drunk _and_ unable to stand. This was going to be a very long night.

 

As he returned to the clinic, Anders found Fenris on the floor, as expected. The elf wasn’t even trying to get back to his feet; or he had and gave up when he didn’t succeed. Fenris was scowling at the ceiling, arms and legs spread out on the ground. Anders decided to leave the elf where he was and lit a few candles. The additional light they spent made the inside of the clinic almost cozy and Anders’ eyes grew heavy.

 

“What am I going to do with you?” he mused aloud.

 

“Mage.” Was that panic in the elf’s voice? Anders frowed and he paused, mid-movement, as he was just about to reach for a cup.

 

“What?”

 

“What...what is that?”

 

“What is what?”

 

Anders turned around and blinked. It seemed Ser Whiskers was more brave than Anders had thought. The tiny cat sat comfortably on Fenris’ chest and eyed and sniffed him curiously.

 

“Mage?”

 

The mage in question snorted in amusement. “It’s a _cat_ , Fenris.” Fenris blinked owlishly at it; the cat slow-blinked in return. “His name is Ser Whiskers. I found him about three months ago. Putting out milk finally paid off.”

 

“I am uncertain whether to congratulate you or pity that creature,” Fenris rumbled.

 

Anders crossed his arms and proceeded to glare at the elf; he didn’t care that Fenris couldn’t actually see it. “I thought you don’t like cats?”

 

“I don’t. I also do not depend my personal happiness on the companionship of some feisty, flea-ridden creature.”

 

“Charming,” Anders scoffed. “You know what? Fuck you, Fenris.”

 

“Too drunk,” Fenris lamented and even though the mage was not in the mood to be amused, he couldn’t help a snort. “Too...too...” Fenris lifted one hand and gestured vaguely. “Too...not...into mages.”

 

Ser Whiskers watched the waving hand. It was somewhat adorable, watching his new little friend interact with a grumpy, drunk elf. The cat soon lost interest in the hand and instead carefully crawled forward. Fenris lowered his head as much as he could. Anders watched him go cross-eyed, staring at the cat. “Get off,” Fenris slurred at Ser Whiskers.

 

He was rewarded with a curious purring sound and a tentative head-butt against his chin. The elf inhaled sharply and narrowed his eyes at the cat. “I said, get off. I do not fancy having a cat rub its scent all over me.”

 

Anders chuckled tiredly. “For reasons beyond me, he seems to like you.”

 

“Get him off me,” Fenris demanded.

 

“Make him get off you yourself,” the mage retorted. “I’m done having my sleep interrupted by some idiot. Going back to bed.”

 

The elf groaned. “Aren’t you going to help me up?”

 

“No.”

 

“Mage!”

 

“Goodnight, Fenris,” Anders said pointedly and disappeared into his room. He knew Ser Whiskers would follow soon. If anything, that cat liked nothing more than sleep at his feet or nap on his lap, even when he was trying to work.

 

“But I’m cold!”

 

Anders paused his steps, pinched the bridge of his nose and held back a loud, annoyed sigh. He wouldn’t go back and help that elf up. He wouldn’t. Fenris didn’t deserve that kindness, whether or not he was being an idiot because he was drunk. He wasn’t behaving much differently when he was sober. If the elf ever was sober. Anders wasn’t really sure.

 

Having Fenris behave like a five year old about to throw a temper tantrum certainly was quite the experience, though. Anders hadn’t realized how whiny the elf could be. Too bad he knew that no one would believe him if he told his friends of his unexpected nightly visitor, because Fenris never, ever made the mistake of ending up in a mage’s home. Annoying.

 

He didn’t go back to help up the elf. Anders could have, and then dump Fenris in front of the clinic. Lock the door tightly; maybe even magically seal it. Fenris could sleep on the doorstep for all the mage cared. Except Fenris could phase, which meant he was able to pass through solid walls and dumping his sorry ass outside wouldn’t _keep_ the elf there.

 

What Anders did, though, was grab one of the woolen blankets and carelessly dump it on the drunk elf on the floor. Fenris still hadn’t moved and neither had he attempted to remove Ser Whiskers from his chest. The cat was happily pawing the elf’s chin and Fenris seemed content to just scowl at it. He grunted when the blanket landed on his face, his arms flailing helplessly. Really, it was outrageous, that Anders couldn’t tell anyone without being called a liar. Fenris wouldn’t admit what happened. Maker, he probably wouldn’t remember any of this, come morning.

 

“Come on, Ser Whiskers. Let’s go back to sleep. Leave that stupid elf alone.” Anders grinned. “He doesn’t deserve the attention of such a lovely, noble creature.”

 

Ser Whiskers’ ears flicked and a pair of green eyes looked up curiously.

 

“Come with me,” Anders cooed, while Fenris finally managed to pull the blanket off his face.

 

“Not stupid,” Fenris slurred. He sounded positively sulky. Anders wanted to laugh – and cry. It was too good to be true.

 

When Ser Whiskers didn’t move to follow him immediately, Anders decided to simply go back to bed. He left the candles and fireplace burning; he’d been at Fenris’ mansion at night often enough to know that there was always at least one source of light. He suspected Fenris didn’t like the darkness much.

 

“Mage?” Fenris called, annoyed. Anders ignored him and slumped into his small bed with a grunt. He could hear the elf shuffle around on the floor; he could also hear Ser Whiskers making cute little noises, which Fenris answered with growls and demands the cat leave him alone already.

 

Minutes passed and Ser Whiskers still didn’t join Anders on the bed. It kept him from falling asleep, because a huge part of Anders was angry that the cat took such a liking to the elf, that Ser Whiskers wouldn’t come sleep. He waited. And waited. Still no weight of the cat at his feet.

 

With a pout, Anders got up quietly and peeked into the clinic. Fenris was still on the floor, but he had managed to roll to his left side. His head rested on one arm. If the elf truly intended to sleep like that, his arm would be numb come morning. Next to him sat Ser Whiskers. Anders squinted at the pair on the floor, quite sure his eyes had to be tricking him in the semi dark. Ser Whiskers began to purr and Anders knew that no, he was seeing correctly.

 

Fenris was scratching the cat’s head. Gently, even. Slow, rhythmical caresses that eventually made Ser Whiskers flop on the floor, purring loudly as he pushed his tiny head into the elf’s hand, asking for more.

 

Not fair, Anders thought and fought the urge to grab his cat. He wouldn’t get into a fight with Fenris over a cat, just because he felt jealous. The elf would soon be sober enough to leave and then Ser Whiskers would be all his. If Anders had one thing, it was patience. A lot of patience. Not for Templars, the Chantry or the Circle, but otherwise – he was a very patient man.

 

A patient man and an insomniac, on occasion. Anders knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep, so he decided against trying and re-entered the clinic. Even though it had been Fenris who invaded his home in the middle of the night, Anders did his best to move quietly. The elf was in serious need of sleep. Morning would be terrible and exhausting and Anders really wasn’t looking forward to it.

 

“I can hear you,” Fenris mumbled. “You lack stealth skills, mage. Please stop trying.”

 

“Didn’t you want to sleep?” Anders asked, annoyed, and moved over to one of his numerous shelfs. He figured he better get prepared, so he would make a cocotion for the elf that would hopefully help with the worst effects of the hangover Fenris was sure to have in a few hours.

 

“The floor isn’t very comfortable,” the elf pointed out petulantly.

 

Anders huffed. “Then get up and on one of the cots, Ser Grumpy Pants.”

 

Fenris growled; Ser Whiskers purred in response. Great. Now the two of them were communicating.

 

“I can’t,” Fenris admitted after a moment. “I feel like I can’t move at all.”

 

Anders hummed as he collected different herbs for the concotion. “At least that means you won’t cause too much trouble. You’ll be a pain in the ass in a few hours, anyway.”

 

Amazingly enough, there was no angry retort from the elf. He probably realized Anders was right and it was useless to argue the inevitable.

 

Fenris was blessedly silence for a long while. Long enough for Anders to put the concotion together and fill it into one of the vials that had survived the drunk, clumsy elf. The mage risked a glance across his shoulder, convinced he’d find the elf asleep. Anders flinched in surprise when a pair of green eyes glowed at him, accompanied by a smaller pair of eyes doing the very same.

 

Fenris lifted his eyebrows.

 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Anders asked. “Since you can’t seem to sleep either.”

 

A long sigh. Rather dramatic for the elf, Anders thought. Fenris was quite amusing when he was that drunk. Who would have thought?

 

“First, I got into an argument with Hawke. We had a difference of opinion. One word led to another and we parted ways. I was angry at him, angry at myself and I will admit we both have been rather insensitive and said things we didn’t mean.”

 

“What did you argue about?”

 

“The Qunari. He was making terrible jokes about them. It isn’t that I fully sympathize with the Qunari, but they have my respect.”

 

A fact Hawke was aware of. They all were. It was especially thanks to Fenris, that the Arishok hadn’t cut their heads off yet, considering how often they had bothered him and his people. The Qunari were a problem that Anders wished Hawke would stay away from, instead of dragging them there every time the Viscount whined and complained about those giants.

 

“Hawke’s an idiot, half the time,” Anders said. “And still young. He doesn’t yet see the world as we do.”

 

“You make it sound like we’re old men.”

 

“Sometimes, I sure feel like one.”

 

Fenris huffed. He sounded amused, rather than annoyed. “I believe I understand what you mean.”

 

“So, you went home and got drunk?”

 

“I was on my way. I ended up finding myself in the unpleasant company of a group of slavers. Considering how angry I was, they offered the perfect opportunity to let off some steam. As soon as I managed to get rid of them, I ended up visiting Varric at the Hanged Man instead of returning to the mansion. Varric thought I needed a good drink or two.”

 

Anders rolled his eyes. He could already guess where this was going.

 

“Eventually, Varric thought some fresh air would help me calm down and clear my head. I do not know how we ended up at the other end of Lowtown, but we met friends of his. They offered us something to drink.”

 

“And you have no idea what it was.”

 

“No.”

 

Again, Anders was rolling his eyes. A drunk Fenris in combination with a drunk Varric was _the_ recipe to disaster.

 

“At some point, I decided it was time to go back to the mansion...” Fenris mumbled. “As you know, that did not go as planned.”

 

“Maker, the two of you can’t be left alone when drunk,” Anders said around a sigh.

 

Fenris hummed, though Anders didn’t know if he simply acknowledged his words, or agreed.

 

Anders leaned against his desk. He felt tired now, but he knew sleep wouldn’t come. Fenris was focused on Ser Whiskers now, petting the tiny creature.

 

“Looks like you don’t dislike cats as much as you claim,” the mage pointed out. He kept his tone gentle, too exhausted to have another argument with the elf.

 

“It...seems friendly.”

 

“He. Ser Whiskers is a little gentleman.”

 

“ _He_ ,” Fenris grumbled and Anders knew the elf was rolling his eyes at him.

 

He had intended to leave Fenris on the floor but Anders knew he couldn’t. As much as they argued, they would never willingly bring discomfort upon each other if it could be avoided. Fenris once had supported him all the way back from the Wounded Coast when Anders had a deep cut in his right thigh and could barely walk; neither had he been able to heal it, because the preceding fight had used up his mana.

 

“If I help you up and on one of the cots so you can sleep more comfortably, will you promise not to growl or insult me?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

 

“I am...not certain if I should move, mage,” Fenris replied calmly. “I...am not feeling well.”

 

“Already?” Anders teased. “Elaborate?”

 

“I’m cold.” Indeed, Fenris was trembling slightly. It was hard to see in the semi-dark, but Anders caught the elf’s hand tremble as it continued to pet a perfectly content Ser Whiskers. “Dizzy,” the elf added in a murmur. “Stomach’s on fire.”

 

“Hmmm,” Anders replied and returned to his shelfs. The concotion he’d just finished making certainly wouldn’t help with what the elf was experiencing right now. As he picked another handful of herbs from the shelf, he heard Fenris shift and grunt. A quick glance at the elf revealed that he was trying to get up.

  
“Stay put,” the mage told him.

 

“Have to sit up,” Fenris rasped. “I feel sick.”

 

“Fenris, if you throw up on my clinic’s floor, you’ll clean up afterwards,” Anders warned half-heartedly.

 

“Naturally.” Surprisingly, that didn’t sound sarcastic, but sincere.

 

“If you’re cold, try to crawl over to the fireplace. I’ll be right with you.”

 

A couple moments later, Anders sat down next to Fenris on the floor. The elf no longer looked like he was going to throw up any moment and the trembling had mostly ceased. Wrapped in the blanket Fenris had been given by the mage, he stared into the flames. Ser Whiskers had cuddled up to the side of Fenris’ left leg and was eyeing him without blinking.

 

Anders had to admit it was a little chilly tonight. Nevertheless, he reached out and touched the back of his hand to Fenris’ forehead. Fenris didn’t even blink at the unexpected touch and Anders was relieved to find the elf wasn’t burning up.

 

“How’s the stomach?” he asked quietly.

 

“Better, since I’ve been sitting up.”

 

Anders wordlessly handed him the mug with a concotion to settle the elf’s stomach and Fenris took it. Usually, he would ask what Anders was trying to ‘poison’ him with, but it seemed the elf had lost his venomous attitude. At least for tonight.

 

“Why a cat?” Fenris asked suddenly. “Why do you desire the company of a cat over the company of...a dog? Or another person? Why put so much effort into attracting cats to come to your clinic to stay?”

 

Anders’ brows furrowed. “Do you really want to know?”

 

“I would not have asked otherwise.”

 

“Well, explaining why would mean I have to tell you something...personal? And you never gave the impression you take any interest in who I am or –“

 

“You talk. All day, sometimes. You nag, you complain, you mourn, you joke, you tease. There is no need for me to ask questions and express an interest in who you are, because you keep telling everyone _without_ being asked to. I only have to listen.”

 

Anders sighed and shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “Drink up and I’ll help you to one of the cots.”

 

“Why does me saying the truth make you angry?” Fenris asked. There it was, the familiar fire in the elf’s eyes. Anders figured the time to be friendly with each other was nearing its end because the elf was sobering up already.

 

“It’s not the fact that you say the truth,” Anders answered. “It’s _how_ you say it. And when it comes to me, you always make the effort to be exceptionally _offending_.”

 

The elf seemed to consider his words rather than start another verbal fight. Anders wondered if one day, they would be able to spend time together and argue in a friendly manner instead of getting angry and insulting.

 

“I did not mean to sound offending,” Fenris eventually admitted.

 

“That would be new to me.” The elf glared at him and Anders decided he’d had enough for one night. Suddenly, sleep sounded wonderful and he believed he could manage an hour or two, at the very least. He could open the clinic later than usual, as long as no emergency came knocking on his door.

 

“When I was in solitary confinement, there was a mouser. He visited me often in my cell and stayed for a while. I always thought it is rather tragic that a cat would take pity on me, where another human being wouldn’t. That cat may or may not be the reason I didn’t lose my mind completely while they had me locked up.”

 

Fenris frowned at him and Anders wondered why his mouth sometimes managed to say things without his consent. It probably didn’t matter now. “When I was with the Wardens, I mentioned to that to the Commander. He gifted me with a little tabby cat.”

 

“That cat you keep talking about...Ser...” Fenris’ frown deepend as he searched his memory. “Ser Pounce a Lot?”

 

“Oh, looks like you did listen.” Anders smiled. “Yes. He was a great cat. I took him everwhere. Pounce was an adventurer. And a great company. Cats don’t judge; cats will treat you with respect and offer you affection, if you do the same in return. They won’t betray you or say hurtful things.” He sighed. “It was the hardest thing, leaving him behind. But it was for the best.”

 

He watched Fenris glance at Ser Whiskers. The kitten was slowly dozing off. Despite the initial jealousy, Anders thought the two of them looked adorable together.

 

“The people in my life haven’t exactly given me that kind of stability,” Anders continued quietly. “Well...not until recently. I suppose I can trust Hawke and the rest of you lot. At least, I’m trying to.”

 

“But a cat, you can trust easily,” Fenris concluded.

 

“Because they love you unconditionally. They don’t care if you have flaws, if you’re ugly or pretty, fat or thin, rich or poor. They accept you exactly the way you are. Like dogs do too, I suppose? Curling up at night with that little ball of fur makes me happy. I feel less lonely. It amuses me how Ser Whiskers keeps chasing my toes under the blanket or bites them. Except for you, the rest of our friends have someone to talk to or spend time with, when we’re not busy getting into trouble with Hawke. I understand you enjoy the quiet and solitude. I don’t, most of the time.”

 

The elf hummed thoughtfully. “Surely, if you would ask, no one would turn you down if you need company. Hawke has offered you to stay at his mansion at night, so you’re safe. Varric and Isabela can always be found at the Hanged Man. I do wonder if they ever sleep.”

 

Anders chuckled. “Me too.”

 

“I believe I understand what you are trying to say,” Fenris continued. Anders merely nodded in response and drew his knees up to his chest. His head felt heavy, as did his eyelids and with a sigh, he rested his head on his knees. “Yet, if you do wish for company, I believe all you need to do is ask.”

 

“Beautiful idea,” Anders murmured sleepily.

 

“Take Hawke up on his offer to spend the one or other night at his estate. If you come over for game nights at my mansion and do not wish to return home at a late hour, you can ask to stay. There are enough rooms that can be used at any time.” Fenris paused. “You may want to clean up a little at first, though.”

 

The mage gave an amused snort. “Seriously?”

 

“I see no need to keep the rooms I do not use tidy. As you know, I do not care much for that place.”

 

“No, I meant your offer to stay the night if I feel the need for company.”

 

Fenris huffed. “I suppose I might not be the best company, but I can be pleasant after two bottles of wine.”

 

Anders laughed quietly, eyes slipping closed.

 

“Is your cat going to leave me alone at some point?” Fenris asked. He was keeping his voice low; Anders wondered if he did so he wouldn’t startle him.

 

“Probably not. He likes you.”

 

Fenris harrumphed. That was the last thing Anders was aware of and as he fell asleep, he thought to himself that his back and neck would kill him in the morning.

 

 

When Anders opened his eyes next, the brightness of Darktown’s twilight let him know it was morning. The candles had burned out and the fireplace had gone out. It was cold inside the clinic and the mage shivered when he became aware of his very cold feet and his even colder behind. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep in that position, even less that he’d slept a few hours without falling over.

 

Something tickled his toes and Anders smiled sleepily at a rather chipper Ser Whiskers who was pawing at them to get his attention. “Are we hungry?” he murmured and Ser Whiskers mreowed in agreement.

 

A little more awake now, Anders noticed the odd weight against his side and glanced to his left. Fenris was still there and fast asleep by the look of it. He had sunk to the side and ended up leaning against Anders, still wrapped in the blanket. The elf was snoring quietly. Anders’ lips twitched into a smile. Something else to add to the list of things no one would believe if he told them – the grumpy elf cuddled up against him and sleeping peacefully.

 

His bladder was urging him to get up and relieve himself, but Anders didn’t want to startle the elf just yet. The sooner Fenris woke, the sooner he’d wish he were dead and Anders just _knew_ Fenris was going to blame him, even though they both knew it was not the mage’s fault he’d gotten drunk in the first place.

 

Besides, this felt...surprisingly nice. He had almost forgotten how good physical contact felt and Anders figured he could allow himself this small luxury until Fenris woke. If his bladder could hold out long enough, of course. Or Ser Whiskers, who was still batting at his toes. With a smile, Anders wiggled them and suppressed a chuckle when the cat got excited and attacked. He couldn’t hold back the small hiss when Ser Whiskers decided to give the big toe a hearty bite.

 

“Are you not worried that one morning, you will wake up and he bit all your toes off?” Fenris rumbled. Anders let out a surprised laugh and smiled fondly at the elf.

 

“Lo and behold, the elf actually has a sense of humor,” he teased good-naturally. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Not as bad as I thought I would.”

 

“Ah. That might change as soon as you actually get up and move.”

 

No answer; and neither did the elf move.

 

“Fenris?”

 

“Yes?” the elf rumbled.

 

“Don’t you want to move?”

 

A huff. “ _Why_ would I want to move if you suspect it will make me feel terrible?”

 

Anders rolled his eyes. “You are aware you are leaning against me, yes?”

 

“I am fully aware of that fact, mage.”

 

“Yes. Mage. Remember, you have a reputation to hate anything mage-y? Now you’re cuddling with one.”

 

Fenris’ head lifted a fraction; enough that he could shoot Anders a glare. “We are not cuddling, mage. Do not get ahead of yourself. Alas, you do happen to be warm.”

 

“And you’re still cold?”

 

“Your clinic isn’t exactly known to be a comfortably warm place, in case it escaped your attention.”

 

“Mreow,” Ser Whiskers said and Anders narrowed his eyes at the cat.

 

“You’re agreeing with him? You traitor,” he complained half-heartedly.

 

“The cat’s got a smarter head on his shoulders than you do.”

 

Anders clicked his tongue and got up in one swift, fluid moment. Fenris toppled over and landed on the floor with a grunt. Ser Whiskers barely managed to jump aside and gave the elf a dirty look.

 

“Ow,” Fenris dared to complain and Anders couldn’t help a satisfied grin.

 

“I don’t cuddle with people that are mean to me.”

 

“We were _not_ cuddling,” Fenris muttered and blinked at the dusty floor. “Now come back.”

 

The mage snorted. “Like Void I will. I have to take a piss and you’re a grown man. Get to your feet and back home.”

 

Fenris looked decidedly green in the face when Anders made his way back to his private chambers to relieve himself. Sure enough, as Anders leaned over the chamber pot, Fenris was groaning pitifully. The groaning turned into coughing and retching and Anders really believed he didn’t need to hear that kind of sound before breakfast. Or maybe it was better this way.

 

“Mage,” Fenris called miserably. “Come back. I’m sorry.”

 

Anders washed his hands, lips pursed as he considered the sudden change of mood in the elf. Slowly, he walked back into the clinic and glanced at the pitiful creature on the floor. “Pardon?”

 

“I said I’m sorry.”

 

The mage blinked. “Are you actually apologizing?”

 

“Yes,” Fenris said around an annoyed huff. “I should pay you more respect, considering it is me in your home and I came here univited and stole your sleep. Just...please?”

 

“Why do you want me to sit down again?”

 

“I felt better while I was leaning against you.”

 

It was so ridiculous, especially coming from Fenris, that Anders couldn’t help but laugh. Fenris scowled at him and Anders laughed harder, while Ser Whiskers strolled around his legs, begging for attention – or rather, breakfast, probably.

 

Anders sincerely doubted it would work out the way Fenris hoped, but he grabbed the concotion he’d prepared for the elf last night and sat down next to him. Fenris grunted and groaned while he got on hands and knees first, then carefully sat up and slumped heavily against Anders’ side.

 

It was pure instinct that made Anders wrap his arm around the elf’s lithe form and Fenris didn’t complain or push him away. After a moment, Ser Whiskers joined them, clumsily climbing into the elf’s lap and curling up there, as Fenris was concentrating on taking a couple deep, calming breaths. Anders watched the elf’s hand reach for the cat’s head and start to caress and scratch it.

 

“Better?” Anders asked.

 

“Hm,” Fenris made.

 

“I prepared something for you last night. It will fight the worst symptoms.” Anders held out the vial for Fenris.

 

“Does it taste as disgusting as the drink you gave me last night?” Fenris asked.

 

“Worse. Sorry.”

 

The elf made a disgusted sound  and pressed closer to the mage’s side. Anders tightened his hold on Fenris, his thumb caressing soothing circles against the elf’s shoulder.

 

“I’ll pass,” Fenris murmured. “This...is better.”

 

Anders kept still as the elf fell asleep against him, his lyrium-lined hand stilling on top of the cat’s head. Ser Whiskers himself was napping on Fenris’ lap and the contentment of the scene made Anders not want to get up anytime soon, even if meant cold feet, a cold ass and a very stiff back later on. As soon as he was sure Fenris was sleeping deeply, he reached up and ran his fingers through the elf’s white hair, marveling at its soft texture. Fenris murmured and he sounded as content as Anders felt.

 

“And the worst thing is, no one’s ever going to believe me,” Anders whispered with a smile on his face. “Well, except for Ser Whiskers.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
